


Wish upon a star

by Turtlepearlove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlepearlove/pseuds/Turtlepearlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Malfoy turn up with a baby and Harry is smitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Verse I

Nobody knew where Malfoy got the baby from.  
But Remus had him by the scruff of his collar as he dragged a wandless Malfoy into 12 Grimmauld place.  
"He is going to get himself and the baby killed" Remus said in a sort of explanation.  
The order was mostly unsympathetic about Malfoy's plight.  
But there was a squirming bundle in his hand, a pink faced bald baby that he held uncomfortably.

There was a lot of veritaserum, one unbreakable vow and a paternity test before Malfoy was allowed to stay in his ancestral home!

For what it was worth Malfoy slipped quiet easily into the long unbroken shadows of Grimmauld place. Where every bedroom was titled with a dead man's name and his covers smelled damp and unwashed.  
On most days he felt claustrophobic, vaguely tracing out names on the dusts of the window sill, and cut off from the rest of the world.  
There was still war going on, from the bits and pieces of conversation he had heard floating up, and Harry potter and the rest of the golden trio still missing. Remus looked worried on most days, making torrents and coffee and arguing with his heavily pregnant wife.  
"You shouldn't be out there" he would say running his fingers through his graying hair, "If it goes wrong...."  
and trail off and sink into the rickety dinning room chair as his wife stormed off.

And Draco would continue lingering in the shadows half dead from the lack of sleep and worry and baby drama on top of it all. 

The war ravaged on outside and he would sit on window ledges and watch the skies for some answers. The Order of Phoenix met in utter secrecy, with warded doors and McGonagall's patented glares that made him feel like a 11 year old. The Weasley twins kept mercifully out of the way when the baby started brawling every time one of them passed by.  
It was hilarious in reality, Malfoy couldn't have trained him better. But his red face would turn redder as he bunched his fist and waved around screaming at the top of his lungs every time the twins passed by.  
Made Draco proud.

On Monday morning when Draco was making tea, the 'golden' trio walked in, grimy, dirty, laughing with their hands on each other so hard that a moment apart would ruin it all.  
Granger with her hair in a messy bun, the sleeves of her wand arm ripped and dirt on her cheek, her knuckles were white from where they gripped Potter's arm and the Weasley with his death grip on Potter's shoulder, blue eyes bright and a clean strip of skin peeled on his cheek and Potter in between eyes so bright that it hurt Draco to look.  
"Malfoy" the Ginger weasel asked, too pumped up to sound angry, he just sounded surprised "what are you doing here?"  
"making tea" he said, still in his pygamas feeling uncomfortable with all their bright eyes on them.  
"You-know...Voldemort is dead" Ron said laughing and Draco flinched all the same, "Harry killed the old snake face"  
Harry with his eyes still bright and scar bleeding ever so slightly and that grime on his cheeks Draco wanted to wipe away, smiled "couldn't have done it without you guys" and held both of them tighter.  
Draco looked away, throat burning in relief, shame and emotions he didn't want to feel "I have a baby" he said instead.  
Granger's eyes widened and Weasley laughed, "Good for you" Harry said, the only one who seemed to believe him as they collapsed on the rickety dinning chairs.  
Draco hid in his room that day as hoards of order members poured in, with cheers and cries and war causalities.  
And that evening at the absence of a party Draco would realize that Fred Weasley had died, like Remus and Tonks and that his half breed nephew cut open from his dead mother's belly was alive and kicking.  
And that both his parents had made it out in one piece after all, awaiting war trials and perhaps Azkaban. 

He climbs to the roof that night, higher and higher with his eyes on the clear star lit sky and traces the shapes of constellations and names his son Gabriel instead, the ancestors of Blacks roll in their graves and he climbs down and kisses his son goodnight.

The next morning when he feeds Gabriel, Granger walks in and gapes in shock "You weren't joking"  
Draco bites back the scathing replies "hardly a thing I would joke about" and shifts his baby a little to the right. The calmness in his voice shuts Granger up as she tentatively moves closer to the baby, the tip of her fingers brush Gabriel's fine blonde wisps as she whispers "how old is he?"  
Draco resist the urge to pull his baby away from Granger's filthy hands, full of possible germs replies instead "nine months"  
"Is he yours?"  
"Yes" Draco drops the accompanying eye roll, Granger must be insane to think that he would cuddle any child who was not his.

Weasley lumbers down the stairs and stuffs in three slices of toast before he sees Granger Draco and the baby "oye Malfoy where did you get the baby from?"  
"He is mine" Draco sniffs and lifts Gabriel up to burp the baby  
"Which bird did you knock up?" with as much as subtlety as an oncoming fright train he asks, Granger glares and inhales sharply.  
"He is just mine" Draco replies as he carts Gabriel away from prying eyes and he just smiles and squeals.

Draco hides in his room and Gabriel grows steadily restless till Draco is forced to carry him outside again, amongst the Weasley ruckus he hopes he can slip by to the tapestry room but finds Potter there instead staring intently at the family lines.  
"Malfoy" and his eyes wander to Gabriel, "and hello there" he says, eyes crinkling as he manages to catch the baby's attention.  
And Gabriel, being the traitor that he is, smiles happily at Potter and reaches his chubby arms out towards him. Potter smiles again, all cow eyed at Draco's little baby and says apologetically "I don't know how to hold you"  
but tentatively moves towards the baby anyway.  
Draco sighs and hands the baby over, adjusting Potter's hands around his baby "Relax Potter" he says at last "he doesn't bite"  
It takes a few minutes for Draco to realize the proximity to Potter, the warmth and those green eyes peer back with unnerving intensity as he takes a hasty step back.  
"His name is Gabriel"  
"Hello there Gabe" Potter says instead, towards his baby's smiling face and puffs up his cheeks.  
They look so utterly endearing that Draco forgets to be pissed about the awful nickname.

He does, later though when he is forced to join the Molly and red headed clan's celebratory dinner where it is an awful combination of happiness and tragedy that he doesn't dare comment. The food is toe curlingly good and Molly drinks more than a liberal share of Sherry, her eyes wandering to the empty spot near George, her hair frizzy and all over the place.  
He fusses over a calm Gabriel to avoid kitchen duty when Molly weasley waddles towards him and Gabe squeals and reaches over to her.  
Narcissa Malfoy would have had a heart attack over her grand child's behavior and Draco almost does, except Molly gives a teary smile and picks Gabriel up. The rest of the evening is spend with the Weasel clan cooing over his baby who enjoys the attention and pouts and preens and blows spit bubbles for his adoring audience, with Draco hovering worriedly in the corner.  
Even the red headed She-Weasel makes her way to Gabriel and lifts him up and it takes all of Malfoy's self control not to snatch his baby away. Gabriel cries the instant he is her arms making Draco almost proud and before he can move Potter rescues the wailing baby from her arms.  
Gabe calms instantly in Potter's arms sniffles, as Potter cooes and doesn't spare the pouting she weasel another glance. Feeling oddly proud Draco picks Gabriel from Potter's arms, except he doesn't move away.  
He spends the rest of the night playing with Gabe instead till the baby falls asleep.

Of all the people in the world, Gabe takes an instant liking for Potter and Granger but throws things at Weasel. And even on the day that Gabriel managed to aim his bowl at Weasel's head, all Granger did was giggle even at his baleful looks.

The daily prophet brings in no good news, despite the celebrations the wizarding world seems to indulge in, more people cry out for blood. Someone to hold responsible, someone to burn on the stakes for the people with the pitchforks.  
The Malfoy name down in the dredges with his parent's faces splashed across the news papers and unflinching eyes at the flashing cameras and their head held up high. The article contained a one line mention of his name 'the Malfoy heir however seems to be in hiding, the readers can only speculate the amount of money that must have changed hands to carter him off from Ministry's eyes'

He wants to tear the pages and break walls and storm into the Ministry with his head held high, except Gabe tugs his sleeves, the dark blue in his eyes fading into something blue-green as he looks up and Draco just feels complacent, his anger makes way to fear and the need to keep Gabe safe.  
So he folds up the paper nicely and makes his way up to his room so that he can write a well thought out letter instead.

The summons to the Ministry is not altogether surprising Draco thinks, but the handcuffs and the aurors in waiting throw him into a loop. Even with the Veritaserum and the annoyingly repetitive questioning and hostile looks no one is convinced about his role in war.

Draco thinks about his life in prison, Gabe growing up as an orphan while a glaring Weaselette pushes his son onto the streets. Draco thinks of living life alone, people outside growing up and growing old when he is left forgotten behind prison walls.

Surprisingly the Golden trio comes to his rescue, at least 2/3rds of it and Potter leaning nervously against the walls of the interrogation room "It will take a while" he says "Hermione is trying to get the Ministry to see reason, it is still a lot of paper work"  
Draco knows this of course, as he stretches the hem of his sleeves over his knuckles "how long?" his voice sounds strained and scared.

And Potter hears this too, moves closer as he places his palm over Draco's clenched knuckles.  
Draco thinks he can feel the warmth radiating through the clothes, like someone sucked the air out of the room and left him feeling oddly giddy instead.  
Granger walks in then, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled hallways and Potter draws his hand away. Draco barely hears the rest, his hands still oddly frozen over the table top.

It takes a day and a half for the 'paper work' to clear and him to be set free from the baleful glares that the officials send him, but he is just so happy to be free that it hardly matters.

When he appartates to Grimmauld place, he doesn't pay attention to the dusty portraits or the screaming Mrs. Black, just his baby nestled in Harry's arms gives an excited squeal as he reaches over.  
And Draco holds him tight, eyes watering, feeling things that he never expected to feel anyway. 

When he looks up from nestling his face against Gabe's neck, Potter stands, a little further back, green eyes crinkled with a smile like the first time he saw Gabe says instead "I missed you" and Gabe laughs in his arms holding back and drools on his unwashed robes, and Draco thinks it feels like heaven.

Almost like he is in love.


	2. Chapter 2

Verse II

Of all the things Harry expected to see back from the war, Draco Malfoy in his pajamas sipping tea in Grimmauld place no less, was the last. He wanted to be angry then, that toe rag had done nothing but made his life at Hogwarts as miserable as possible, without the added advantage of murderous defence against dark arts teachers and Voldemort trying to kill him every other day.

But then he had war related things to do and when all was done and left he faced a Malfoy pale and thin holding a giggling baby, Harry didn't have it in him to be vengeful anymore. One look at Malfoy's dark circles ended that for him. And of any odd resentment he harbored for Malfoy melted away when he came back from the ministry holding-cell, pressing Gabe to his chest. He looked so young then, soft, like he could be somebody's parent.

Harry never had a particular affinity to babies, his limited exposure to them ended when he was one and no matter how many times Aunt Petunia called Dudykins a baby didn't actually make him one. Thus from a vintage point of view Harry had no particular interest in getting involved with Malfoy's baby anymore than getting involved with Malfoy himself.  
And then came Gabe with toothless smiles and wispy blonde hair that made Harry want to reach out and touch it.

Gabe was unimposing for a child Harry thought, he smiled more than he cried, with cheeks like water balloons and fists that grabbed Harry's glasses every time he came near.  
"Even Gabe thinks you looked ugly in them" Malfoy added, Harry's retort died in his lips as he watched the smile tug the corner of Malfoy's lips.  
"or he appreciates my superior fashion sense"  
Even Hermione snorted as she flipped another page of her book without looking up.

They made an odd pair at the least, with Malfoy and Gabe and him. Of Ron who liked the privacy of Grimmauld place, of Hermione who liked their company, of the Weasleys who were like family, all turned out to be visitors. And on those rare nights that it was just the three of them he could sometimes hear Malfoy at night, padding across the hallways in sock clad feet and Gaberiel crying in his arms. He would lay awake and listen to the soft hushing noises that Malfoy made, almost coos and soft pleas till he fell asleep as well.

 

The war had made it impossible for Harry to shop in Diagon alley anymore, mostly because there were posters of him with 'WANTED' written all over it. But post war scenario wasn't too good either, from being the wizarding world's pariah to the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort included Grainy adolescent pictures of him in Quidditch uniform posted on walls and shop-windows and people who felt that they had to personally thank Harry for fighting the war.

The only problem was that it didn't just end with thanks and grateful tears, for the last time Harry went out in public he was mobbed and was pretty sure that more than one person had tried to pull his hair or feel him up. That resulted in Harry finding solace in muggle London, it helped that no one recognized him and even better that he wasn't roaming around in rags holding the hem of Aunt Petunia's dress as she strode ahead ignoring him.

It was the fifth time Harry returned with tons of toys for Gabe that Hermione raised her brow, lips thinning she didn't say a word, until much later.  
"You are very attached to Gabe" she made it sound casual, pretending it didn't mean much.  
"Yea mate you are weird about that baby" Ron piped up, instantly earning a glare from Hermione.  
Harry gave a half hearted shrug "I like him" he said simply  
"It is just that"   
"He is not really yours you know"  
Not that Harry needed it to be pointed out, but it felt like a punch to his gut.  
"I know that"  
It sounded indignant to his own ears.  
"I just think you are trying to compensate..." he never really got to hear the rest of the sentence as he walked out fuming, almost knocking Malfoy out of the way.  
It was much later that Harry realized, Malfoy might have over heard the conversation.

If Malfoy did over hear the conversation he showed no signs of it. He was polite and just as busy with Gabriel as he always was.  
It was when Luna came over that she peered at Gabe and said "Oh he has your eyes Harry" that Malfoy snatched Gaberiel away "He looks nothing like Potter" with such vehemence that even Luna took a hasty step back.

Malfoy spend the rest of the evening huddled in his room with Gabriel till Molly called him down to dinner. He continued being painfully polite.  
Harry didn't know what to make of the whole ordeal at all other than feel slightly hurt.

Monday morning Harry was surprised to see a harassed looking Molly Weasely trying to calm a wailing Gabriel.  
“Where is Malfoy?”

“Oh he has gone to search real estate’s sweetheart”

Harry choked on the dry toast he was chewing “why does he need a house” he didn’t realize how stupid that sounded till the words spilled from his mouth. Molly raised her eye brows at that but continued rocking Gabe

Harry finally took the wailing baby from her arms as he sniffled and slowly subsided, the red of his face slowly receding “you don’t want to leave do you?” Harry whispered as Gabe snuggled into his arm, his tiny fist bunching up the cotton of Harry’s shirt.

\----

“Did you find a house?” Malfoy paled at that question when he walked in, “it is not that easy to find a house Potter” he said instead, carefully removing his coat.

Harry was surprised to see a muggle outfit underneath, a crisp white shirt and pants, with his hair slickened back Harry thought he looked much older.

At his questioning looks Malfoy sighed “muggles are not too keen on selling houses to a teenager, no matter how legitimate my papers look”

Strangely enough it was Hermione who decided to help Malfoy out, Harry thought her motivation was mostly getting him out of the house. Nevertheless without much ado she had offered her expertise with muggle housing to Malfoy.

It was Hermione who later informed them that despite Lucius Malfoy’s apparent hatred for muggles, he had muggle paper work and assets in London bank. “I am pretty sure that is illegal” she said to Harry, her lips thin “it’s for tax evasion, the wizarding equivalent of an off shore accounts” 

Harry wasn’t any more familiar with the term than Ron was, but neither of them stupid enough to ask her that question.

The house hunting became a Hermione-Draco thing, and Harry played with Gabriel feeling left out when they returned discussing pros and cons about muggle housing facilities and brochures. 

“Why muggle though” Ron asked “wouldn’t the ferret prefer somewhere wizarding?”

Harry wanted to know too, mostly because he would rather have the house closer and an excuse to visit more often.

“Like anyone would rent Draco a house” Harry vaguely wondered when Malfoy became Draco to Hermione “The Malfoy name is a bit unpopular at the moment”

Ron snorted at that.

\-----

It was Monday morning when Draco poured himself black coffee and looked at Harry and said “I’ve decided on a house”

Harry barely hid the scowl and hummed nonchalantly “I want you to come and see before settling on the down payment”

Harry hides his surprise well enough, Malfoy looks impassive, like Harry’s answer hardly matters, but his foot taps nervously beneath the table that makes Harry smile.

“sure” he says.

As much as Harry hates the idea of Malfoy moving out, he can’t help but feel impressed by the house. Contrary to the rows of identical houses in Pivet Drive, the street looks more opulent with nicely trimmed gardens and a house with a big enough back yard.

“Belonged to a family of squibs” Malfoy says conversationally as a sort of explanation to the wooden carving and a Portrait that eyed them disapprovingly “Its got some charms on them to prevent muggles from seeing magic from outside” he says drawing the curtains back to reveal French windows.

The house is not exceedingly big, Harry finds out as he peers into the three bedrooms, but almost cosy he decides and has a brown leather couch that he wants to sink into.

“It’s nice” he says at last, a bit begrudgingly even and Malfoy smiles blinding bright, lips curving so delicately, his grey eyes lighting up that Harry’s heart skips an uneven beat.

“I am glad” he says.

They settle into a muggle café after wards, with a waitress with bright pink hair who smiles at Harry beautifully and Harry tries to recall the last time he was on a date.

The conversation is surprising easy, they talk about school a bit, subtly sliding over the bad parts and settling for classes instead and plans for an ambiguous future.

When the waitress brings in the coffee Harry notices the couple on next table, two men who seem to be laughing, it isn’t until one of them reaches over and kisses the other man that Harry realizes that they are actually a couple.

Malfoy follows Harry’s line of sight and blushes, the conversation stops abruptly and Malfoy doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes for the rest of the meal.

That night when Harry lies awake, he thinks that he almost likes the tinge of pink that appeared on Malfoy’s cheeks, he laughs at the absurdity of the situation startling a sleeping Ron.

By Thursday morning Malfoy has Gabe and his stuff packed into neat boxes that he casts a lightening charm on, “for the muggles” Hermione answers. And they are all roped into helping Malfoy move, Ron a bit more enthusiastic than necessary.

They move the brown couch into the drawing room, and set up lavender curtains on windows and move in a stove and a micro wave that Hermione tutors Malfoy how to use. And Harry wanders into Gabe’s room, the one with cream walls and a red wood crib that looks surprisingly elegant for a baby room. The scattered toys in the corner of the room add color to it and Harry unshrinks the lion cub doll he bought and places it on the crib.

The Lion king was the only movie that he had watched then, that day on Dursley’s birthday that the absentee baby sitter had forced them to drag him along. He enjoyed it nevertheless, of the happiest memory he had of the outcast little lion finding his way through. He hopes that some day he can take Gabe along too.

When he walks back into Grimmauld place that suddenly seems lonely he sees Ginny there, with a cup of coffee smiling at him.

Her red hair untied, Harry sees the almost halo of her hair against the sunlight, her pale neck and the short summer dress that makes his breath catch. Her smile is warm as she pours him another cup “It’s gonna be lonely here without Gabe” he knows that her interactions with Gabe was limited, the awkward way which she held him but he agrees, feeling the warmth of her palm against his. 

That night when he dreams, he dreams of a white house with picket fence and red headed children that laugh and play. There is one with green eyes like his and aburn hair that tugs his arm, another one zooming on a broom way too fast. He sees a girl too, one with red hair like Ginny’s but his smile.

On the window sits a boy instead, one with blonde hair his palms pressed flat against the window pane mouths Daddy. When he tries to open the door, its locked shut and he can hear Gabe’s anguished cries from inside but doesn’t manage to open the door.

Harry wakes up in cold sweat, more terrified than any other nightmare he has ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Malfoy's POV unlike the first chapter


	3. Chapter 3

Verse III

The room smells like parchment and ink by the time he is done, of cloying memories, happier school days and piles of homework. The questions are nonsensical and pointless, but the house is big and Gabe has grown quiet colicky, Draco thinks a house elf would make it better. But for that there is an application for house elfs, a plea for things he was legally entitled to- there is no discrimination in a free world after all.

There was Mipsy, his nanny elf, Dobby and Pippy as permanent non entities in his manor, quick enough to pick his discarded socks and replace the clean towels when he was done bathing. Home was manor, of wooden stairways he hid beneath from his father’s footsteps and albino peacocks he chased around the house, and Pegasus trained into submission that somewhere in his adolescence he believed that a hippogriff would be just as docile.

Those are bitter memories; rise above his mind in crystal clarity, jeering faces that mock and Harry’s stand out. Gabe cries from the nursery and Draco forgets.

It’s a roll of Parchment done, in immaculate handwriting and pointless questions in painstaking clarity, it takes the authorities less than five minutes to stamp ‘Rejected’ in grey at his last name. After all none of the questions had really mattered than the worth of his last name, on some other day Draco would have laughed at the irony but that day was not today.

Today he still had baby clothes he didn’t know how to clean and food running out and Gabe unattended, he just sighed and tried to stop the weariness creep in further.

The door bell ringing is surprising the last woman who had come over was an older woman- a neighbor who turned her nose at everything he said and asked him if his parents were home. It made him miss Grimmauld place, at least for the company mostly Potter, who would sit around with a permanent bed head and a grin that would light up the room.

The visitor was surprising to say the least, a face blurred out from his mother’s childhood photographs, someone he had taught his entire life to ignore.

“Aunt Andromeda”

He moved aside to let the woman in, long sweeping coat and not a hair out of place. And no matter how many family trees she had been burned out from, the black resemblance could not be taken out from her arching cheekbones, or her nose or the cold grey eyes with some familiarity glared with practiced disdain “Draco” she said with familiarity her voice did not posses.

“Would you like something to drink?”

His mother would have snapped her fingers for the house elf, but he mostly prayed she would say no because he had no clue how to actually conjure up tea without tea leaves. Draco had always been partial to milk.

Andromeda chose to raise her arched eyebrows “no need” and settled on his couch.  
She looked more like his mother than aunt Belatrix, even with the difference in hair color; he could see his mother in the curve of her lips and the tilt of her head. It was like a stranger on the other end that made his heart ache.

“So this is where you live!”

Draco nodded and then decided that an “Yes” was more appropriate

“with your son!”

“Yes”

She looks around the room, “who is the mother?”

Draco’s knuckles turn white, he is taut enough to snap but when he hears the unmistakable voice of Gabe’s voice awake and chooses to pick him up and bring over than answer the question at all.

Gabe is bright eyed and in a much better mood smiles cheerily when Draco approaches the crib and reaches his tiny fist forward to reach him.

So Draco walks out, his head held high and answers “he doesn’t have a mother” almost daring Andromeda to question him, to question the veracity of his statement.

His mind shielded with the strongest occlumancy barriers, but Andromeda doesn’t prod, not even the slightest with the barest tilt of her head asks again.

“Is he pureblood?”

It’s devastating enough, offensive enough for his to draw back. It’s an old custom, something so subtley implied in the tradition book his father had handed over when he reached fifteen. That at times of war, or any threat, that the heir was more important, that even at the most desperate times there should be at least one Malfoy heir left.

Dragomier had did it, during the Great French war and the Malfoy name was in mud enough for them to flee France. That he had his son shipped away safely to England with all the money left and he went on to fight the war.

The Malfoy name was besmirched then, every last one of them to be hunted down, but no one had expected any of them to survive, after all Dragomier had been fifteen when he was killed.  
Draco would have considered it, but when he had been fleeing Voldemort’s orders he had feared his life. He had been too busy trying not to relive the memories of Fenrir Greyback sniffing his hair to think about knocking up some pureblood girl.

Too busy crying into his pillows at night than to conjure up any enthusiasm to get it up.  
But of course, Andromeda did not need to know those details, of sleepless nights and brewing healing salves with the bare ingredients to make sure Potter’s scars didn’t bleed him to death, or changing muggle houses so fast that Fenrir threat wouldn’t become a reality.

“He is not” Gabe grabbed a fistful of his hair and gurgled “I did not, he was not…”

There was a lump in his throat, and anger in is gut. He settled for glaring at his aunt instead, whose eyes still looked appraising.

But then it softened, draining away the vague resemblance she had with Belatrix. Her eyes looked kinder as she asked “what is his name?”

Lucius Malfoy had once told him, when he was hardly older than 6 and Marcus Flint had ‘accidently’ knocked him down during a game “we never forgive or forget Draco”

“you can go back out and play with him now because Flint is bigger than you and we still need the business deal to work out”

“But you should never forget the ones that cause you harm Draco, because no one had harmed a Malfoy and lived to tell the tale”

That day his father’s tone had scared him more than Marcus’s knock would ever have, and he had curled up in bed conjuring up various plots to hurt Marcus.

He was never to forgive Andromeda, of the times her mother’s mouth tightened when she flipped through the family album, of how tight her grip was on him when they ran into each other, or worse that unmistakable hurt in her eyes that he could never forget.  
Andromeda had after all not just abandoned the Black house, she had left his mother too for someone mudblood beneath her stature.

“Gaberiel” he answered as Andromeda moved to pick his baby up.

Some other life the Malfoy’s could afford to hold grudges, but in this one he had enough already.

 

Gabe was almost a year when he got his first fever, hardly a fortnight since Draco had been taking care of him alone. At first Draco didn’t know and Gabe wouldn’t stop crying, a night was spent with Gabe screaming till he was tired and fell into a listless sleep. And when Draco tried to place him back to the crib, he squirmed and protested.

And by 4 in the morning Gabe had grown warm and red and Draco knew what a fever was.  
Gabe’s fever did not cool down and muggle thermometer stayed stubbornly at 102 no matter how cold compresses he had used.

And when Gabe’s face turned redder, he had floo’d to Saint Mungo’s bursting through the emergency ward at the startled nurse who promptly dropped her files.

That morning there was a picture of Harry Potter on the front page of daily Prophet, that itself was not uncommon. But the new picture had Harry shielding his face, pushing through reporters with his other arm firmly around Ginny Weasly.

It was their arms linked together that apparently deserved a separate photograph and rumors of a possible nuptials. Of course no one cared that Potter was yet to finish his NWETs, get a job, or enjoy his life after fighting Voldemort for the last 7 years, everyone wanted a white spring wedding already.

He had set the paper on fire in a fit of pique and regretted it immediately when the subsequent scourgify had left a white stain on his red wood table. His anger was not quenched till he unsubscribed to the Daily Prophet, but then felt rather silly.

And then there was an ache in his chest with the image burned in that he quenched with particular viciousness. He did not need Potter, and Potter could marry that stupid redhead and have ugly children and never know what he had missed anyway.

And he had panicked and fire called Harry who appartated still in his Bunny Pygamas and shocked the poor nurse again.

Draco stood pale faced there, lips thin and eyes wide open. He looked almost composed, “his fever wouldn’t go down” and all Harry could see was how young he looked, how utterly vulnerable, his own heart thundering in his ears.

They spent half the night on rickety plastic chairs as the stern faced healer said that there was really nothing wrong, “you can take him home tonight young man”

“Is there anyone else there with you?”  
At Draco who looked at the verge of collapse looked offended at that “I am perfectly capable…”

“I am saying with him”

And then Harry had held the sleeping Gabe in his arms and appartated back to Draco’s house. By the time reality had sunk in, he was in Draco’s breakfast table for a very late one and Draco making eggs at least attempting to.

After watching him for 10 minutes trying to pick up bit of egg shells with a fork from the frying pan, Harry had to push Draco away and dump the inedible eggs.

“How do you survive?” he asked the boy who still had a tinge of pink as he glared at the floor, “I usually just have toast”

And Harry laughed and made the best breakfast Draco had in a while with eggs and toast and bacon that he would never ever admit to.

And when Gabe made a noise from his bedroom Harry smiled and got up “You eat your breakfast” and went to fetch him instead.

And Draco had to crush down the sort of fierce ache that made his throat hurt and eyes water and settle for smiling at Harry and Gabe and a life he would never have.

But at least the breakfast was good.


End file.
